Super Man
by sodapoppp
Summary: A -PAUL!- introspective on his quasi-friend, Scott Summers, and mutants in general. One-shot. Done for Yma's Neglected Character Challenge! ...PAUL!


Super Man

A/N: PAUL! is the shibble izzle. Hee. I luffs PAUL! Alright, for the sake of sounding like a neurotic Remy fan girl, I will stop here. 'but it¡¯s PAUL! Anyways: rating is due to some typical high-school language and subtle slash tonalities.   
  


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The first time I met Scott Summers, I was about to get my ass kicked by Duncan Matthews.   
  
I had just moved to Bayville, straight from Iowa. Wasn't I blessed with the best luck? Not only was I the new, pale, skinny kid that was a freshman, I was the new pale, skinny kid that was a freshman and was from **Iowa**.   
  
And they say God doesn't have a sense of humor.   
  
Here I was, about to grab the last bowl of tapioca pudding in a nerd-like fashion and generally minding my own nerdy business, when Duncan his cronies that are every bit as huge and stupid as he is come walking up to me and says, "Are you going to eat that?"   
This was the part where I would cut in one of my typically sarcastic trademark Paul remarks that never really helped the situation, but only gave me a worse arse kicking. It didn't really matter in this case, because it was the first day of school, and I was a freshman. In other words, I was meat, no matter what.   
My brain whirled, trying to find a tactical way to get out of the situation without walking around for two weeks wincing and rubbing my buttocks, but I could find nothing; only some vocabulary words I had just learned from AP English last period, and a Beatles song with vague lyrics that I had had stuck in my head for days. Mentally, I cursed my short attention span. Physically, I opened my mouth to at least say something -- _anything_ was better than just staring at them with glazed eyes and a half open mouth. I hadn't gotten any farther than "I-" when Duncan yanked up my Spider-Man briefs.   
If you have ever experienced a wedgie, then you know this would cause a body extreme discomfort. However, Duncan was the school football star. He went to the gym seven days a week. He actually lifted weights for _fun_. (Why anyone would want to physically hone their body for fun, I don't know. This is me, the skinny, pale kid who had the horrible asthma in 5th grade, talking.) And the day I decided to wear undies instead of boxers like a normal person (not that it makes much difference in pain, but just the fact that you have a little more dignity spared), was the day Duncan Matthews gave me a wedgie to remember for the decades.   
I think I sort of mumbled something while being lifted in the air two feet above the ground, but it came out as a strangled squeak. Like, "Wedgies are so juvenile and immature." But my witty banter would not save me this time, as it had done in the ... well, it never had. But I digress. It was Scott who saved my ass from a whoopin', if you pardon the hip lingo that is far too hip for you.   
He just walked up to us, and calmly said, "Duncan."   
As if it was the magic word of the day, the said person dropped me like a potato sack and stepped forward, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his thick, blonde Groucho Marx-esque eyebrows.   
"Summers." Duncan said throatily. I know 'throatily' is the adjective more commonly used when the 40-year old hooker lady is trying to seduce an inexperienced, idealistic youth (and why doesn't that ever happen to me? I'm an inexperienced idealistic youth, aren't I?), but you know what I mean. He said it in the gutters of his vocal range; trying to act all manly and 'I'm-more-macho-than-you'.   
But Scott's not the type of guy who cares about things like that. He just lowered his head a tiny bit (Duncan's about a milimeter shorter than him, if you'd believe it) and said with his typical patronizing tone, "Leave him alone, Duncan. He hasn't done anything to you."   
Duncan smiled a little bit; leered, more like it. "You're right, Summers. Hey, how was your summer, by the way?" (I think I opened my mouth about here to crack a joke about the blatant pun that Duncan had unintentionally made, but Duncan Crony A kicked me.)   
"Fine." Scott replied.   
"That's great. Jean and I are going out to eat for lunch to talk about eachother's summers, ourselves." Duncan said smugly. He's not smart, Duncan, but he always knew how to push Scott's buttons - I'll give him that. Just like at that moment. It was as if Duncan had planned it, for right there, Jean, a vision of red and ...uh, red, pushed open the lunchroom doors and turned her head this way and that, obviously searching for someone. Duncan smiled and waved at her, and she waved back.   
Scott's face tightened; his teeth were clenched, his fists were ready to aim, his lips thinned, and ever so slightly, his cheeks turned a different color.   
"Well, wouldn't want to keep you." His voice was audibly trying to be kept under control.   
"No, you wouldn't." Duncan quipped smoothly, and pushed past Scott. His clones kind of evaporated when Duncan and Jean disappeared from sight. Scott stood staring after them, his expression unreadable behind his glasses (well, is it ever?). Finally, he sighed, and turned around to bend over and lend me a hand. I would've took it, but I was a bit suspicious of him. And I had every right to be so - Scott was a sophomore, just like Duncan. Who knew what kind of horrible things he had done to poor, defenseless creatures similar to myself in the past?   
"Need a hand?" Scott said, and with my train of thought was interrupted, I drifted back to the real world, where I'm a complete idiot that doesn't think. So, the idiot that I am, I took it.   
"Sorry about that. Duncan can be kind of a jerk sometimes."   
I brushed some imaginary dirt off my shirt idly. "Really? I thought he seemed nice. Great conversationalist, too."   
By Scott's blank look, I took it that he had not been around sarcastic types very much. I could've figured that on my own, too. He's so serious and detached from the world - the few people he lets inside his circle would never be able to tell if he liked them or not. Scott's just not a very affectionate person, though --   
except with his teammates. I've seen them hang around eachother. They act like this one, big family that's lived together forever. Scott even gives that one kid noogies occasionally. I kid you not. _Noogies_.   
I always kind of admired Scott. Sure, he was practically a freaking brick; never laughed or anything - at least, when around me, of course he did around his Institute mutie friends - God, I sound like one of them, like Duncan, AND jealous - but I'm not jealous, and - okay, shutting up.   
I admired Scott. He was athletic and popular and attractive to girls, but despite all this, he was such a _boy scout._ Seriously, I can not put it in any other words. He always had good intentions; never a hidden motive. He never cheated, drank, smoke, did the wild monkey dance (and probably never will 'til he's in a ripe old age and married), or anything. Some called him a prude, but he was simply a guy with morals - the kind of morals that you never see around today with real people that are real friends. It was almost creepy how - _perfect_ - he acted. But creepiness doesn't matter, really. The important fact is, he always cared. He defended the weak and unprotected like some kind of Superman. It's almost cheesy, but it isn't, because I'm not talking about a little girl who's about to be eaten by a giant purple blob monter. I'm talking about a guy who's been called 'pizza face' since the age of 12, with a thick set of glasses and headgear, and the giant purple blob monster is a good-looking highschool guy who's had his share of girlfriends and drunk parties. Superman never had ruby quartz sunglasses, but... hey.   
  
He told me he had sensitive eyes.   
  
And to think, this guy who I thought was perfect and admirable in every way, has been lying to me from day one. This was the guy who had been my best friend for more than four years. Hell, he's been my only, real friend that I can truly count on, no matter what - and all in the blink of an eye, everything changes, and I have to hate him now, because everyone else does. But I don't want to. But I **have** to. Because I'm the weak, unprotected guy, and without any protection, I can be swept off the map with the blink of an eye. It's every man for himself. Do I hold a grudge against 'muties'? Yes and no. I actually think it's kind of cool that they have these nifty abilities that no one else has, and by DAMN, some of them have the coolest powers that seem like they're straight out of a Fantastic Four comic book. But everything that comes with being cool comes with a flaw as well. I mean, come on. The popular kids of highschool are rich, pretty, athletic, and maintain mediocre grades. So of course, most of the time they're awful people with practically no ethical morals and rude to anyone they don't like. So all the mutants with the nifty-keen powers, of course, lied to everyone.   
I hate liars. I always have, ever since 2nd grade, when Kyle McClaun told me that not only did Jessica Perez like me, but wanted to kiss me after school. Probably the biggest humiliation of my life, and all at the tender age of seven-and-a-half. Is it a wonder that I'm a rejected, nerdy outcast of highschool society? My childhood was lacking. Someone get me a shrink.   
But then, the most philosophical side of my brain (which isn't very philosophical at all, but it makes do) argues that Superman lied. He _had _to, or else all the bad guys would be after him nonstop, costume or no costume, and even worse, they'd go after his loved ones. Which makes me think Scott is perfect, once again, but - no. Nobody's perfect. But, the Socrates in me argues again, Superman was a foreign alien from another planet, albeit a very good-looking, human one, that ended up being one of the most famous superheroes of all time. And even though I still like Spider-Man better because he was the one with more brains and strategy, Superman's morals and strong sense of caring came before all, and that's why the guy always triumphed. That pretty much describes Scott down to a knot, except for maybe the other planet thing. Geez; Scott **is** Superman. So what if alien is really just another word for a mutant? Or just someone that's... different?   
Was Superman a hero, or a disgraceful product of mankind?   
  
'You already know the answer to that', Socrates-Paul says.   
  
Damn. What next? Spoons are really forks?


End file.
